THE MAFIA'S FORBIDDEN WIFE

CHAPTER TWO

Luca POV

I should have kept my mouth shut.

The hallway still smelled like her perfume, something soft and expensive that clung to the air even after she walked away. I stood there with my hands at my sides, jaw locked so tight it ached, and watched the Don’s wife disappear around the corner with perfect posture and a spine straight enough to hide whatever had just passed between us.

Then stop noticing.

Her voice kept replaying in my head, quiet and steady, like she hadn’t just lit a match in a room full of gasoline.

I dragged a hand down my face and forced myself to move. Footsteps approached from the private dining room. Marco’s voice carried first, low, controlled, the same tone he used when he was already three steps ahead of everyone else in the conversation. Sal Vitale walked beside him, older, thicker around the middle, smiling like a man who knew he was useful.

I straightened and schooled my expression back into something blank before they reached me.

Marco’s eyes landed on me immediately. “Luca. Isabella?”

“In the car,” I answered. My voice came out even. “I walked her out.”

He gave a short nod, satisfied. “Good. We’re finished here. Ride with us.”

I followed them out into the cool night air. The black sedan waited at the curb, engine running. One of the soldiers opened the rear door. Isabella sat inside already, hands folded in her lap, gaze fixed on the window. She didn’t look at me when I climbed in after Marco. She didn’t need to. The space between us on the leather seat felt tighter than it should have.

Marco settled beside her and rested a hand on her knee like it belonged there. I kept my eyes forward and ignored the way my pulse sat too high in my throat.

The car pulled into traffic.

I replayed the hallway against my will. The way she had stopped walking. The way she had looked up at me without flinching. Most women in her position lowered their eyes. Isabella Romano looked straight at you, even when she was pretending not to. I had noticed it months ago and told myself it meant nothing. A beautiful woman stuck in a gilded cage would look restless. That was all.

It wasn’t all.

I had felt her stare across the restaurant like a hand on the back of my neck. And instead of doing the smart thing which was ignoring it, walking away, remembering exactly who she belonged to, I had crossed the room and opened my mouth.

You should be more careful.

About the way you look at me.

Christ.

I clenched my fist against my thigh where neither of them could see it. Marco spoke quietly to Isabella about the rest of the week’s schedule. She answered in that soft, polished voice she used in public. I listened to the rhythm of it and hated that I could already tell the difference between the voice she used for him and the one she had used on me in the hallway.

When the car stopped in front of the Romano building, I got out first and scanned the street out of habit. Clear. I opened the door for them. Marco stepped onto the sidewalk and waited for Isabella. She slid out after him, the green dress catching the light for a second. Her eyes flicked to mine, just once, quick and unreadable, before she took her husband’s arm and let him lead her inside.

I stayed behind long enough to give instructions to the remaining men, then followed.

The penthouse was quiet when I stepped out of the elevator. Marco was already shrugging off his jacket. Isabella had disappeared down the hallway toward the bedrooms. I should have left. My job for the night was finished. Instead I waited while Marco poured himself a drink and nodded toward the crystal decanter in silent offer.

I shook my head. “I’m good.”

He studied me over the rim of his glass. “You look tense.”

“Long day.”

Marco made a low sound of agreement and walked to the windows overlooking the city. “Sal is getting nervous about the Volkovs. He thinks they’re moving faster than we anticipated.”

“They are,” I said.

“We’ll handle it.” He took a slow sip. “I want you at the meeting tomorrow with the Vitale crew. Nico will be there. Keep an eye on him. The boy has a temper.”

“Understood.”

Marco turned slightly and looked at me. “Isabella seemed quiet tonight.”

The sound of her name in his mouth made something ugly twist under my ribs. I kept my face neutral. “Did she?”

“Mm. She’s been distant lately.” He said it thoughtfully, not accusingly. “I’ll take her away for a few days soon. She needs reminding that she is safe with me.”

I said nothing.

He finished his drink, set the glass down, and clapped a hand on my shoulder. The weight of it was familiar and heavy. “Go home, Luca. Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be longer.”

I nodded once, turned, and left the penthouse before I could do something stupid like look down the hallway where she had gone.

The drive to my place passed in a blur of streetlights and self-disgust. I lived in a clean, modern apartment the Family kept for senior Capos, open floor plan, dark furniture, windows that didn’t open far enough for a man to throw himself out of if he ever felt the need. I stripped off the jacket, rolled my sleeves, and poured a drink I actually wanted this time.

I stood at the window and stared at nothing.

She had told me to stop noticing.

As if it were that simple.

I had spent months carefully not noticing the way her mouth softened when she thought no one was watching, or the way her fingers tightened around the stem of a wine glass when the conversation turned cruel, or the quiet hunger that sometimes flickered behind her polite expression. I had filed all of it away under things that did not belong to me and would get a man killed if he forgot it.

Tonight she had looked at me like she already knew I was failing.

I drained the glass and poured another.

My phone buzzed on the counter. A short message from one of my men about a shipment delay. I answered it without thought. Business was easy. Business made sense. You followed orders, you stayed useful, you stayed alive. Wanting the Don’s wife made none of those things possible.

I set the phone down and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.

You have no idea what you’re asking for.

I had meant it as a warning. It had come out like something else entirely.

A knock sounded at my door, three short raps, the pattern my men used. I checked the clock. Almost one in the morning. I crossed the apartment, checked the peephole out of habit, and opened the door.

Dante Russo stood there in a dark coat, expression unreadable.

“You left the restaurant like someone s**t in your drink,” he said by way of greeting.

“Figured I’d check.”

I stepped aside and let him in. Dante and I had come up together. He was one of the few people in the Family I trusted with more than surface-level conversation. He walked to the counter, eyed the bottle, and poured himself a measure without asking.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“You’re a s**t liar when you’re actually fine.

When you’re not, you’re worse.” He leaned against the counter and studied me.

“Something happen with the Don?”

“No.”

“With the wife?”

The question landed too close. I kept my face flat and reached for my glass again. “Drop it.”

Dante raised an eyebrow but, to his credit, let it go. He drank, winced at the burn, and changed the subject to the Volkov problem and the meeting scheduled with the Vitales tomorrow. I listened, answered when required, and waited for him to leave. When he finally did, the apartment felt even quieter than before.

I didn’t sleep.

I lay on my back in the dark and stared at the ceiling, replaying the exact second Isabella Romano had looked up at me in that hallway and refused to pretend. The memory sat in my chest like a live coal. Every version of the night that ended with me doing the right thing felt weaker than the one that had actually happened.

Sometime near dawn my phone lit up with a message from Marco.

Meeting moved to one. Bring the numbers on the last three Vitale runs. And Luca, keep your head clear. I need you sharp.

I typed back a short confirmation and set the phone face down.

Keep my head clear.

I almost laughed.

Instead I got up, showered, dressed in a fresh black shirt and slacks, and stood in front of the bathroom mirror long enough to see the same controlled face I showed everyone else.

The same face that had leaned in too close to the Don’s wife hours earlier and told her not to look at him like that again.

I grabbed my keys and headed for the door.

Halfway there, my phone buzzed one more time.

I glanced at the screen, expecting another order from Marco.

The number wasn’t saved.

The message was only one line.

I couldn’t sleep either.

No name. No signature.

But I knew.

I stood in the middle of my apartment with the phone in my hand and felt the ground shift under my feet in a way that had nothing to do with the city and everything to do with a woman who was not mine to want.

I typed three different replies and deleted every one of them.

Then I locked the screen, shoved the phone in my pocket, and walked out the door before I could do something I wouldn’t be able to take back.

The elevator doors closed in front of me.

And for the first time in a very long time, Luca Moretti, the man who always stayed in control, had no idea what the f**k he was going to do next.